The Art of Belonging
by semicolonial
Summary: New Moon AU. Edward doesn't return, and Bella finds her solace in a large, eccentric coven of vampires. A chance meeting fifty years later tests the strength of her family, her mate, and herself.
1. Prologue, Part One

**Summary: New Moon AU. Edward doesn't return, and Bella finds her solace in a large, eccentric coven of vampires. A chance meeting fifty years later tests the strength of her family, her mate, and herself.**

 **This story may not be** **Edward/Bella.** **I try to stick to Twilight canon as much as I can (minus canon-divergence, obviously), but for the sake of this story, it will be very OC-heavy. I hope you enjoy.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the Twilight series in part or in whole. All publicly recognizable characters, plots, settings, and ideas were created by Stephenie Meyer.**

* * *

 _ **Prologue** / **Bella**_

I never expected the pain to be quite this bad, my lungs to be quite so small; but it's not a vampire's venom that sends my body into burning cold.

A sorrowful sound echoes through the forest. I almost believe it's a bear; no, the sound had escaped from my own heart, building in my throat, before reaching its crescendo and ripping through the crack in my lips. It's too cold for a September night, and the only thing that can warm me now is the presence of a colder body.

My feet move on autopilot through the coppice. The underbrush stings my legs and the thin branches rake my face like mangling fingernails, but my hands move them away. Move towards Edward.

Finally, I shatter, my legs giving way to the ice that they've become. My eyes prick with unsung tears before my body curls and collapses into itself like a broken tendril of smoke. And like a sluice, gasping sobs wrack my body as I writhe beneath the new moon. I topple from my position on my knees till I'm on my side. Exhaustion keels me over; I can feel frost creeping up my legs, down my spine, through my wrists. My tears seem to freeze onto my face. All that's left of me now is desperate breaths of air and a girl of glaciers, wishing desperately for a fire to warm her.

I'm slipping into death.

A lake of lava swims before my eyes, and I allow my body to drift into the heat.

* * *

The light is nearly blinding. My eyes initially refuse to open, my nose scrunching in protest before my lids crack open. It's a small peak of light that enters my vision first, streaming through a gap between the curtains that someone seemed to have the decency to close for my sake. Still, the thin breach of the thick fabric hanging on the window allows the white sunlight to assail my vision, causing me to grunt in annoyance. So I lift my hand to shield the offending glow.

And I freeze.

It's like a kaleidoscope exploding on my fingers, sparkles dancing across the skin there. Colors play off little prisms across my palm, blues and pinks and greens and colors I never knew could come from such milky white marble. I am made of diamonds, all welded together to form the jeweled chainmail that is my body, but I know that if I run my fingers across my arm, I would rival silk.

I am the stuff of daydreams.

I sit up quickly and fluidly, pivoting my leonine body around. Even the blanket, originally laid across me with such care, falling off my shoulders is graceful, reminding me of the marble drapes Greek goddesses wore. Absentmindedly, I wonder who had tucked the thin fabric around me; the burn of the change was enough of an inferno without the extra layer, but somehow, I'm grateful at the thought.

When my feet touch the plush of the carpet beneath me, I almost shudder at the feline quiet behind the action. I make my way to the open glass door. The squeal of the curtains as I brush them aside goes ignored, and it only takes a moment for the shock to register at the scene before me.

I am at the beach.

I blink, unsure if I'm hallucinating or not. But it's real. It's not a Forks beach, shrouded in rocks and overcast clouds; it's a sunny, sandy, honest-to-goodness _beach_. The urge to run outside and splash around in the clear blue water is nearly overwhelming. But I don't. Because I'm not alone.

A man enters, a small girl trailing behind him as she grips at the sleeve of his casual button-down. The man looks to be about thirty, the girl the same age as me. While the man's hair is a crisp brown, hers is a metallic, flaming red, the thick, large ringlets stopping just above her shoulder. Her eyes, bright and doe-like, are curious on her heart-shaped face, and I'm at ease when the man speaks.

"Isabella?"

"Just Bella," I correct, and the words are out of my mouth the instant I think them. My hand flies to my lips, my eyes widening at the clear tone that escapes there. And the two laugh, friendly tenor and warm soprano, before the man makes his way to me, palms up in greeting.

"I'm Theo, Theo Bennett. How are you feeling?"

I almost don't trust myself to answer, but rather the redheaded girl laughs again, perching herself on a dresser against the wall. "It's alright; we all felt a little off-kilter after we woke up."

The timbre of her voice surprises me; it's high and sweet, but with a can-do attitude that brings old Hollywood starlets to mind.

"I feel..." I trail off with a frown, my hand lifting to my throat where a raised crescent scar has embedded there. The two are endlessly patient, it seems, because they only wait, understanding smiles on their faces. "I feel different," I decide safely. There's something off about these two, something that sends my instincts and my mind whirring in confusion.

"That's to be expected," Theo nods, and turns to the girl. "Evelyn?"

Her eyes drift off in thoughtfulness before she responds. "Elliot says that they're on their way."

My mind begins to spin even more. Elliot? How many is ' _they_?'

Evelyn begins walking toward me and I tense for a brief minute. But instead, she brushes past me and stands by the bed, folding my discarded blanket as she closes her gold-green eyes and basks in the sunlight. And it hits me like a ton of bricks, what is so wrong with the two of them.

The glittering of vampire skin isn't there.

I stumble back and my heel catches on the rug, and I nearly fall onto my backside. They look at me curiously. I can't even find it in myself to be embarrassed, my mouth instead flopping like a fish.

"You... you..."

"Is everything okay?"

I swallow. "What _are_ you?"

Theo and Evelyn exchange glances dubiously before Evelyn resumes her spot on the dresser and Theo beckons me to sit on the bed. I do, still stunned. I'd thought they were vampires; I thought _I_ was a vampire; but how can they be if their skin doesn't have the same properties? What am I, since my skin _does_?

"I suppose now's as good a time as any," Theo muses. "Bella, I'm assuming you've heard stories of vampires."

" _Yes_. But you're not vampires."

Evelyn's gaze grows more interested now, and curiosity creeps into Theo's eyes.

"I'm afraid we are. And you are, too."

" _No_ ," I insist. "No, you're not. You're not... you're not _sparkling_. Your eyes aren't _gold_ , or _red,_ or _black_. Not in the way they should be."

It had slipped out, but I quickly realize that it's true. Evelyn's eyes are the same topaz as the Cullens' lovely shade but flecked with green around the rim. And Theo's are gold as well, but shining with blue whorls, almost as though someone had poured cerulean ink into his irises and created a whirlpool with the two colors there.

And now those two sets of eyes are staring at me in shock. They lock gazes for a moment and almost seem to be communicating in their minds, Evelyn flitting from her perch on the dresser to take both my hands in hers.

"I can't hear anything," she murmurs, looking at Theo excitedly. "This is amazing."

"How is it," Theo begins, "that you know what we're _supposed_ to look like? You wouldn't happen to have had any interaction with vampires before us, yes?"

I shake my head as if to shake away the question, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself back home, back to Charlie, back to...

Edward!

It's a bolt of lightning. The memories, carefully tucked away behind a sluice, break loose and flood my mind. The party, the breakup, me wandering the woods... the freezing air forcing its way down my lungs... my fingers losing all feeling as they turned to ice...

A sob wracks my body, and I pull my hands from Evelyn's, curling into a ball. I can feel the pity rolling off both of them, and I don't _want_ it. But I'm still grateful to them; I know that they're the only reason I'm still alive, that I can still have a chance to fix what I broke. I can find Edward; I can trace his scent, find his family. But deep within me, I know it's impossible.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, the heel of my hand habitually brushing away tears that didn't fall. "I had a boyfriend. Edward Cullen."

The two of them go completely still. "Cullen?" Evelyn asks Theo. "Dad, didn't you tell us about that man who managed to resist the bloodlust? The doctor?"

"Yes," Theo nodded stiffly. "I've heard of the Cullens, Bella. Everyone has. But none of us have met them personally."

I shudder. No, of course they haven't; the Cullens are recluses, but apparently not so much as this family that is tucked so deep into obscurity that they can feed on animals and not raise a brow.

I suddenly wish I had Evelyn's hand again; the room feels very cold. Sensing this, she places her hand in mine, lips dropping open. "Nothing again."

"A shield," Theo says, rapping his knuckles on the bedpost. "That's what it is. I haven't seen this for so long. Not since... not since the fall of the Roman Empire, I believe."

I recoil in shock, and he jokes, "Now, while I may not be quite as old as the Egyptian coven, but you don't need to look so startled at my youth."

I'm sure that if I could blush, I would be. Instead, I cast my eyes downward and shuffle my feet awkwardly. "I'm sorry. It's not that. It's just that I thought that the oldest vampires I've heard of are the Volturi. I didn't even know that there was an Egyptian coven, much less a Roman one."

"Oh, we're not Roman," Evelyn hums noncommittally. "Technically, we're the Californian coven, although nobody really knows we exist except the Volturi."

"But Rome—"

"Dad was born in Ancient Greece; he saw the fall of Rome, but there isn't a Roman bone in his body."

My curiosity is piqued as Theo continues. "My wife, Rehema, was born in Ancient Egypt, and some two hundred years after her change, she visited Greece. I was born under the full name Theodosios; I'm sure you can see why we had to shorten that." His eyes twinkle merrily with the smile that barely plays at his lips, and I find myself entranced with the story. "I wasn't exactly the most impressive child, nor was I the most well-behaved."

"As I'm sure you can see," Evelyn quips, and Theo throws her an amused glare.

"As I was _saying_ , after a little... misadventure, Rehema changed me. I'm twenty-nine. She's twenty-eight, and Evie here is eighteen."

"Are they the only ones in your coven?" I ask. I'm met with two vigorous shakes of the head.

"No, our family is a bit too big for our own good," Theo grins, "It's Rehema, then me, and then we found Nathaniel when he was nineteen in England. Shortly after that, we saved Amelie from the guillotine during the French Revolution and Henry and Violet from the Titanic. Then— oh, who was it next, Evelyn? Johnny then you, or you then Johnny?"

"Johnny in 1920, then Elliot and me after we made the mistake of screwing around with that plane," she replies, then turns to me. "Elliot and I are twins. Henry and Violet were both together when they boarded the Titanic, and Nat and Amelie are married."

My head should be spinning. I should be pointing and running and screaming. But instead, I can only feel the residue of nausea from my remembrance of Edward and overwhelming respect for the family that welcomed me with such open arms despite its already large size.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. The pair look at me. "I didn't mean to impose. I... I can leave—"

"No!" Both Evelyn and Theo make me jump in alarm before Theo clears his throat. "You don't have to leave. Of course, you can if you like; I understand that you associated with the Cullens, and we follow the same diet as they do. If that doesn't appeal to you, you're welcome to go anytime you like, but we're glad to have you here."

" _And_ you really should meet the family before you make any judgments," Evelyn says, the tip of her button nose twitching. I take a deep sniff too— cinnamon and citrus, I realize is the scent of Theo and Evelyn —and smell an intoxicating whiff of pine, cedar, flora, fruits, and desserts that I decide must be the rest of the Bennett clan rapidly approaching from the north. Evelyn smiles warmly at me.

"You'll love them. And there are definitely a few perks of staying. One being that you get most of the perks of humanity."

I blink. "Is that why you didn't...?"

She grins mischievously, giving me a thumbs up. "That's right. The lack of sparkle, the wacky eye colors, the ability to eat and sleep: that's all Elliot. It's his ability. That's why we get to live here in such a sunny place and not raise any attention. You really should stay, Bells." The nickname rolls off her tongue like she invented it.

The Bennetts are getting closer as Evelyn continues like a rehearsal. "Plus, we can help you develop your powers and share bunches of knowledge with you. Half the family is gifted. You'll be in good hands. What do you say?"

The air is sparking with electricity as the first Bennett crosses the threshold downstairs, laughing and bantering for all he's worth. The next is a woman, tone fond and warm as cocoa. And the rest pour in. The playful chatter downstairs seems to complete the atmosphere, seems as though it's the chorus to the piano of the breaking waves. China plates chime on a glass table, and the aroma of a homey stew surrounds the house. Not yet a home, I realize, but it could be. It will be.

A handsome boy enters the room and smiles at me, and I smile back.

"Yes," I whisper before turning warmly to Evelyn. "Yes, of course I'll stay."

* * *

 **Thoughts are always appreciated! If you have any suggestions as to where you'd like this story to go, please leave a review.**

 _ **7/19/16: One character's name edited due to unintended mismatch with another canon character.**_


	2. Prologue, Part Two

**I appreciate any feedback! I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter; please let me know if things go too quickly or slowly.**

 ** _Prologue (Cont'd) / Bella_**

The boy is Elliot.

He's Evelyn's twin, and it couldn't possibly be more glaring. Both their heads are lush with bold copper-red curls. But Evelyn's locks are more maintained, more pinup, while his fly in messy tufts. The green on the rim of Evelyn's eyes are in the center of his, and the friendly dimples on his cheeks are lopsided on the left as opposed to Evelyn's even ones. His body is long and leonine, whereas hers is petite and brings a breathtaking bird to mind. Yet their differences complement each other, and there is no doubt in my mind that if I had seen beautiful Evelyn walking down the street with the attractive boy, I'd know they were twins.

"Hello," I say shyly to him.

"Hi, there," he responds in kind, albeit much more confidently. I'm at ease at his demeanor, and he pulls Evelyn close and plants a sloppy kiss on her temple before ruffling her hair. She squawks in indignation, readjusting the elegant ringlets.

"Elliot," she begins, amused, "This is Bella. Is that really the first impression you want to be making?"

He pokes his tongue out at her, shameless, and turns to me. "It's nice to meet you, Bella. Dinner's ready, if you want it. Mom put a beef stew on the slow cooker earlier this morning and it's gonna be great. I suppose you two stragglers can join us, too." With that, he beckons me to come with him and races downstairs.

I look to Evelyn and Theo for permission, but they just smirk, and Evelyn flings herself out the glass doors in my room, her cornflower shirt billowing behind her like bluebird wings. Theo opts to take the same route as Elliot, and I hear Evelyn beckon me from below. "Come on, Bella! We won't bite you."

I hesitate, then leap from the open window and onto the warm sand.

No, not onto the sand— onto a glass table, one foot giving way and bringing me to my knees and the other sloshing water out of the crystal glass it tips over. My misplaced touchdown sends the girl to my right gasping, and the boy to my left glowering.

Like a phantom limb, I can feel the heat that would have rushed to my face.

"Clumsy," tuts the woman seated at the forefront of the table, and as I glance up to meet her face, the apology dies on my tongue. She's easily the most beautiful person I've ever met; more so than any of the Cullens and any of the Bennetts as she sits with the regality of a queen. Her lips are full, her features sharp, her neck tall. Her hair is a deep chocolate color and stands in thick, kinked coils, and her skin, milky and smooth, I can easily imagine as a rich shade of caramel in her earlier life. Her eyes are unaltered by Elliott's gift; they are liquid honey and glowing with warm, playful amusement, tilted by high cheekbones into almond-shaped mischief.

I know immediately that she is Rehema, the head of the family.

"I'm so sorry," I find the words, trip over them, and she chuckles.

"I was teasing you. Please, sit down and eat with us. I'll get you another glass, Violet."

I glance down and yelp as I yank my foot out of the drink, and the somnolent girl looks up at me then to the older woman and murmurs her thanks. I catch her eye and apologize again.

"It's okay," she hums. Her voice is ethereal, sharp contrast to Rehema's succulent tone and my panicked stutter. "Henry, can you pass me the napkins?"

The glaring boy across from her softens visibly and steadily hands them to her with a gentle, "You're alright?"

The girl, who I have to assume is Violet, hums again, taking the napkins from Henry with ghost-like fingers as I gingerly step off the table. Henry leans forward with a leering smile that is all too unfriendly— and it is directed at me.

"You could have hurt her."

"Henry," Violet chastises gently as my lingering mortification grows. "You know that's not true. A little water never hurt anyone..."

"Except you," Elliot muses, "what with the Titanic and all."

Violet clicks her tongue reflectively and Henry's stare feels even hotter on my back.

"I really am sorry," I mumble, suddenly feeling hopelessly out of place as Theo guides me to the seat beside Rehema's. The action forces the dark-haired boy already seated there to move down one space, and with Rehema and Theo already seated at the short ends of the table, my added seat throws the placement off-balance while everyone maneuvers to accommodate. "Sorry," I repeat this time to the dark-haired boy, and to my surprise, he offers an understanding smile and ruffles my hair with one large hand.

I take the moment to study the coven and they do the same. Henry, having been the only one outwardly hostile so far, smirks derisively at me and digs into his food, occasionally reaching across the table to place chunks of meat onto Violet's dish. In the seat diagonal to me, Evelyn starts chattering animatedly as she introduces her surrogate family.

"Well," she chirps, "There's Henry and Violet for you, world's oddest oddballs."

Henry doesn't even look up from his food, but the smallest smile creeps onto his face at Evelyn's words. Violet, on the other hand, darts her curious glance to me and I realize just how lovely she is— and newfound confusion sparks at her relationship with Henry.

The amber in her eyes weave with a blue deeper than even Theo's, so vivid they take on an indigo hue. They're glassy, as though she's looking straight through me, as though she knows something I don't. Her fair hair layers neatly to her shoulders, a clean braid arching like a headband to tuck the shorter strands away. Yet there is a fragility about her that I can't quite place: something that makes her body whisper like a ghost in quivering breaths. My gaze turns to Henry, with his hair so black it looks blue, with silver welded to gold in his irises, with a cocky twist in his lips. Evelyn said the pair was mated, and I don't doubt it from the way his gaze seems to melt each time her lilting voice sings him a question.

It doesn't stop me from glancing inquisitively at Evelyn, who chuckles.

"Don't mind Henry. He's just _being_ like that. He's lucky Violet even stays with him."

Violet protests more passionately than I would have assumed her to be capable of while Henry's eyes harden again into a finely-sharpened glare that swears Evelyn's murder. The redhead, for her part, doesn't shrivel away, but purses her lips innocently and leans into Elliot's shoulder.

And then Henry is ignoring everything else but Violet as he tidies her braid, and Evelyn is warbling to me again.

"You know Elliot and Theo; this is, for all intents and purposes, our mother, Rehema."

The twinkling-eyed woman raises her glass to me and takes a long sip while Evelyn nods at the boy sitting next to me, the one who ruffled my hair. "Nathaniel." She slings her arm around the girl directly beside her, "and Amelie."

Amelie breaks into a pearly grin, using one hand to wave at me and the other to return Evelyn's half-hug. While still breathtakingly beautiful, she isn't as conventionally, outwardly so as her sisters or mother; where Violet's eyes are the indigo of a sunset sky, Amelie's are a gold knife slicing into black ice. Where Evelyn's hair is ripe strawberries on a summer day, Amelie's is the faded flax of a snow leopard hunting for her meal. Where Rehema's poise is a strong, proud aspen, Amelie's is the relaxed branches of an evergreen laden with ice. Where they are Rosalie, Amelie is Alice.

But then she opens her mouth, and I freeze.

Then Violet's lullaby, Evelyn's warble, Rehema's purr, they all sound like snow crunching under boots when Amelie croons like healing water over moss-covered stones, or the whisper of a breeze through a poppy field. Each timbre of her voice seems octaves apart, ready to break into tears or laughter or siren song. She takes the empty space outside my ears and replaces it with an tangible softness in the few moments it takes her to say, "Hey there, Bella."

"Hi," I respond stupidly, my own voice the shrieking of a child in comparison.

"Amelie's a silvertongue," the voice beside me pierces. Despite its cascading vampire notes and the baritone fullness of it, it's almost difficult to listen to after Amelie. I angle my head up, up to Nathaniel as he chews thoughtfully at the tip of his fork. And as I take a good look at him, I realize he may well be the most handsome of the Bennett men. Classic, dark curls falling over gray-gold eyes, as if he'd run his hand through the locks in a futile attempt to keep them back. His chiseled jawline shifts when he tilts his lips upward into a smile, and though he's not overwhelmingly Herculean, he's tall and muscle-bound. The softness in his gaze assures me he is nothing more than a gentle giant.

"Silvertongue?" I repeat, and he grunts in reply.

"For persuasion," he adds, and I understand. Amelie could likely talk me off a cliff and I'd comply with a smile on my face. I feel oddly comforted by this— it's clear I'm on her good side with the way she joins Evelyn in her sprightly aria to introduce me to the final member of the Bennett family, Johnny.

He's tall and bulky in ways the other males are not, a happy sparkle in the sea green swirls of his irises. His hair, the same sandy swatch as the beach outside, is cut to a wavy surfer style. He flicks it out of his eyes, then flattens it down on his forehead, then salutes me with two fingers in greeting.

"Hey, Bella," he thrums. There is a childish coloring to his voice, one laced with cheerful naivete. Feeling awkward, I nod at him and focus my attention back onto my food.

There are too many utensils flanking my plate, and choosing one with which to eat the aromatic stew Rehema prepared feels like choosing the wire to cut to defuse a bomb. But a soft nudge under the table catches my attention, and I look up where Elliot sits across from me, discreetly twirling a round, deep-bowled spoon in his long fingers. He doesn't look at me, instead choosing to throw me a meaningful glance from the corner of his eye, but the message is clear. I mimic him, even though the others at the table don't seem to care about which spoon to use or whether to put their napkins on their lap— Rehema, in all her elegant perfection, seems to be the only one with impeccable manners as the rest of the table engages in hearty conversation.

Evelyn and Amelie are debating the pros of a Europe overseas trip versus a U.S. road trip, while Nathaniel and Violet chat quietly about their schoolwork. Henry, as standoffish as he seems to be, occupies himself with poking fun at a distressed Johnny, almost like an older brother tormenting his younger brother. Theo seems to be blind to everyone else but Rehema as he accounts his day to her in great detail— he is a college professor, apparently, and Rehema's beautiful eyes tilt upward in laughter when he tells her of his students glueing all his teaching materials to the wall.

"So."

I jump when I hear Elliot's voice— it has the same tune to it as Evelyn's but deeper and smoother. I realize quickly that I probably look a little pathetic watching, red-eyed, as the others banter and play.

"Yes?" I squawk gracelessly.

"Evie says you know the Cullens, huh?"

I'm a little struck by the opening, and a pang of sadness courses through me. How could he have known? Sensing my confusion, he explains that his sister can give and take thoughts through touch, and I shudder involuntarily at the idea that Evelyn might have told the rest of her family about how pathetic I was. Reasonably, she couldn't have known about my pining; still, what would these good people think of me, knowing that I was stupid enough to believe someone like Edward would want me?

Elliot's ankle bumps against mine again, and I jump in surprise, turning to look at his endless legs through the glass of the table. "She didn't tell me much," he says softly, "Just that you knew them."

I'm grateful both for his reassurance and the rest of the family studiously ignoring us for the illusion of privacy. I'm stunned, further still, by the contrast between Elliot and his sister that wouldn't be obvious through appearance. He seemed to be perfectly happy to tease and play with his siblings earlier, as Evelyn does now, but the casual mellowness he exudes now wraps around me like a safety blanket. I quickly realize my leg is still touching his and jerk away, the spot where his bare ankle had occupied searing with unfamiliar warmth.

My eyes dart around and eventually, I meet Violet's haunting gaze when it flits from Nathaniel to me. She is still staring through me, eyes wide and glassy, before she focuses her attention onto Elliot— who, I've noticed, seems to be burning where he sits, brimming with what seems to be the same glow I felt.

Then Violet's eyes, so unearthly and sweet, sharpen in surprise, before she tips her head back and releases an exuberant laugh.

* * *

 **Forgive me for the wait. Honestly, my motivation has been totally shot to write anything, but I kind of missed this story. For those of you who are wondering, yes, Elliot is Bella's love interest (which is probably a mistake, as I'm bound to mess up and spell his name "Elliott Bennet" at one point). Honestly, New Moon screwed with me pretty badly, and I want Bella to have closure with Edward in a way that she deserves.**

 **I hope you enjoyed the Bennetts and their dynamic; they're pretty much my children at this point. I want you to get to know them, and Elliot, before the confrontation. Reviews keep me going, and I'd love to hear what you think!**


	3. Perfect

"Violet sees the future."

I am still reeling from the embarrassment. After a mortifying thirty seconds of silence following Violet's laughter led to Elliot stammering an excuse to flee the table, Rehema lost no time in ushering me to the bright, spacious kitchen. I'm sitting on a stool by the island now with the Bennett matriarch, carefully licking the whipped cream off my fingers from a strawberry meringue pie she placed in front of me with an order to eat. She does the dishes in her flowing dress, her wild hair spilling over her shoulders, and I wonder vaguely if ancient Greek sculptures of Aphrodite used her as the model.

Rehema places another plate flowing with strawberries and cream in front of me as if reading my mind, and I dig in to drive the flustered feeling away. I had to wonder what it was Violet saw; would I end up becoming the World's Clumsiest Vampire? Would the Bennetts see how ridiculous I was and drive me out in shame? Or did she just . . . _see_ something on my face?

I was later assured, though, that Violet had the same reaction to Rehema and Theo, and Nathaniel and Amelie when she first met them. I refused to acknowledge the fact that each was a set of mates, and instead dug into my second helping of pie.

"She can't see the immediate future, and she can't turn it off; it's like a second layer to her, a layer that's a veil over the real world around her. She doesn't give the specifics to anyone but Henry, but he says that if she focuses hard enough, she can push the reality she sees to the back of her mind and only look at what will come, hence that . . . _stare_ of hers."

Rehema doesn't say it condescendingly, or with any particularly negative tone, but I still shudder at the memory of Violet staring at a space behind me like I wasn't even there. _Like Alice,_ I think absently. _Like Alice, but every day of her life._

Miserably, I stab my fork into a strawberry while Rehema excuses herself from the kitchen.

* * *

I'm in my pajamas in my room later, preparing to sleep— _Sleep_ , Evelyn had said, _comes with Elliot's gift. Use it. —_ and finding myself tossing and turning restlessly. I had been entirely prepared for the occasion that when I became a vampire, I wouldn't be sleeping ever again. Evelyn had told me that it would feel unnatural at first because it was only by the help of Elliot's gift that a vampire could be able to sleep at all. It seemed that four of the Bennetts had chosen not to, evident from Amelie's crooning voice, Johnny's rambunctious footsteps, Henry's brassy laughter, and Elliot's happy tone.

The bedsheets are Egyptian cotton, thousand-thread count, and the pajamas that Amelie so graciously loaned me feel like water on my skin. The rest of the Bennetts who "slept" seem to be completely nonexistent; I can't even hear a breath from them, or a rustle of bedsheets, almost as if Elliot had coaxed them to the deaths they should have had long ago.

A rap on the door startles me from my thoughts. Hyperaware of every brush of hair in the house, I'm surprised when Henry enters, eyes just as cold as usual. The moonlight streaming through the window reacts oddly against his dark hair, almost reflecting off the pitch-black strands there, and he sits on the blanket chest at the foot of my bed.

"Good evening, Bella," he begins, and I'm surprised to hear what his voice sounds like without its usual contempt. It is when he starts playing with the tassels at the end of my bedsheets, though, that I realize he almost seems nervous.

"Hi, Henry," I say, shifting uncomfortably. "Where's Violet?"

"Sleeping," he answers automatically. "These things take a toll on her . . . about Violet . . . I'm sorry about that earlier." He forces the apology out between gritted teeth, and as if he wants to say something before losing his nerve, he barrels forward with the subject. "You're staying for good, then?"

Henry seems to have accepted the idea, but I'm still mortified at the idea of infringing on his perfect family. "As long as you'll have me, I guess . . . I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"That's fine," he rushes, eye twitching once. "Even if we wanted you out, Theo's too nice to tell you, and Rehema's too polite. And we all listen to them, especially since Rehema's the one who created us. But I just need you to know one thing." The warning look in his eyes is back. "If you hurt Violet, Bella, I _will_ have your head, Theo and Rehema be damned."

" _Hurt_ her?" I gasp, venom pooling at my eyes. "I wouldn't ever—"

"I know," he snarls dangerously, "But I'm serious, Bella. She's sensitive. You know, when she was younger, people saw her as a total freak? Nobody's parents would even let their kids get near her. Even _I_ thought she was insane . . . my father, my biological father, stuck me into an arranged marriage with her since he was in love with her mom when they were younger. The things I said when I first met her . . . if you even _think_ about causing her that same pain that I caused her that day, you're dead to me.

"There are too many people who've hurt my mate, and there's no way I'm going to let it happen again after all the hell I've been through for her. The night before the Titanic sank, I _still_ hated being in an arranged marriage with her. She looked me in the eyes and said ' _we're all going to die tonight'_ and I remember thinking what kind of crazy plot I'd gotten myself into. It literally took me a sinking ship and floating in ice cold waters for an hour to realize I actually cared about this insane, innocent, _ridiculously_ naïve girl, and dammit if I let anyone corrupt her. Not you, not Evelyn—"

"Evelyn?" I interrupted in surprise, and flinched away when that knife-glare was aimed at me.

" _Yes,_ Evelyn." He laughs bitterly at the look of shock that crosses my face. "I know, right? Little Miss Perfect hasn't always been so sweet. December 1920: Evelyn and Elliot go for a joyride on their dad's biplane. It was Violet who freaked out and told Rehema where to be, and when to be there. When the two went down, Evelyn absolutely _hated_ Violet— kept on spouting some nonsense about wanting to die human —and gave her hell every second of everyday. Honestly, I still hold a grudge with her for that, and it would probably be worse if Evelyn hasn't been spending the past fifty years trying to make it up to Violet for making her feel like trash when they met."

I shift uncomfrotably, a shudder rolling down my spine. "Henry . . . why are you even telling me this? I thought you hated me."

A wicked grin crosses his face, all teeth and sharpness and eerie honesty. "Well, wouldn't _you_ like to know everything about who you'll be spending eternity with?"

* * *

I never actually go to sleep that night.

Henry's words replay in my head like a scratched record. Did he plan to scare me half to death, or were his intentions true that he wanted me to walk into the family with open eyes? I don't want to think him cruel enough to lie to me, but . . . he never _did_ deny he hated me.

It's impossible that any of the Bennetts could be like that. Vampires were supposed to be perfect . . . the Cullens proved as much to me.

 _But did they?_ I shake the thought off; perhaps the biggest flaw I could name in any of them is Rosalie's hatred or Jasper's bloodlust, but the family as a whole never proved to be anything but a perfect porcelain statue set, one that I would have died to join. The thought occurs to me, not for the first time that night, that maybe now my beauty will be enough to win back Edward if I can find him. But again, it's driven away by the stinging reminder that I would only be a bother, that Edward simply didn't want . . . _me_.

I shiver. My idea of perfection is the idea of vampires. But if the Bennetts aren't perfect, then are the Cullens? Did I ever _truly_ know Edward's family at all, or just the idea of them?

The thought is too far for me to comprehend, and I try in vain to go to sleep. I knew the Cullens. I knew Edward. I loved him. I would have died for him.

I try to silence the voice in my mind that reminds me, with his name having been the last on my human lips, that I already did.

* * *

The house comes to life like clockwork, and I get to listen to each Bennett stir awake. Similar to how their sleep sounded like death, their awakenings sound like life. Each wakes with a gasp of air, similar to the sound of someone resurfacing after spending hours underwater. It feels anticlimactic when I simply slip out of bed, not having slept at all.

The kitchen is serene. It is a fine Sunday morning, and Rehema works at a loaf of banana bread. Across the glass table outside, fruits and cheeses are already lain out, and Nathaniel nibbles slowly at his breakfast with a book in his hand, Theo across from him. To my right, Violet sits on the ground before a recliner while Henry grips bobby pins in his teeth, braiding her hair away from her face. Evelyn, Amelie, Elliot, and Johnny are hardly specks in the distance as they splash along the wet sand of the low morning tide, attracting stares from early joggers who veered far enough down to the Bennett beach house.

"Good morning, Bella," Rehema greets, setting a plate of oatmeal before me as I sit down. I lick my lips as she loads brown sugar, strawberries, blueberries, and almonds on it, topping it off with a healthy splash of milk, then sets down an ice cold glass of water with cucumber and mint leaves floating at the top. "Eat. You're hunting with Nathaniel today, up in Oregon, so you'll want something to tide you over until you can get your hands on a nice bear or mountain lion."

"It's okay for me to eat even though Elliot's not here?" I ask in surprise. I had assumed that Elliot's humanizing power would be limited by proximity.

"Well, Elliot is only down there collecting sand dollars," Rehema reasons. "But if it bothers you, I can call him down."

After that awkward encounter last night? I wouldn't be able to eat a bite if he came around, much less came anywhere close to me. The thought of Elliot's legs bumping into mine the night before quickly turn into the thought of mine wrapping around his back, something I can say with _absolute confidence_ did not and could not happen. I let out a squeak and duck my head. "That's okay, please don't!"

Rehema, to her credit, doesn't appear as startled by my outburst as the others in the dining room.

"I mean," I amend quickly, "If he's having fun, I don't want to bother him." And if he came, Evelyn was bound to join, and I don't think I could ever live it down if she decided to touch me and take a reading of my thoughts . . . _especially_ the intrusive, dirty one about her brother. I can't be sure how her gift or mine worked, but the idea that my shield could fail me or that she could involuntarily learn all my deepest secrets is too risky for me to entertain.

Rehema shrugs with a simple "suit yourself" while Violet snickers in the corner. I resist the urge to glare at her; I'm not close enough to any of the family yet to do that.

Nathaniel flicks his book shut— _Wuthering Heights_ —and addresses me with a gentle smile just as I finish up the last bite of oatmeal. "Are you ready to go?" he asks, and I realize his voice, with an English lilt and soft, deep quality, is just as soothing as Amelie's when she isn't around to conpare.

I return his smile— whatever there is to say about the intimidatingly loyal Bennetts, one thing I can say with confidence is that I look forward to having him as a brother.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

* * *

 **I'll work on developing maybe two or three Bennetts per chapter as Bella begins to integrate herself into the family, and Bella herself will develop throughout. The Edward confrontation will be pretty slow-burn, so please be patient! I'm hoping to make the payoff well worth the wait.**

 **This is probably the quickest interval between chapters I've had thanks to your reviews and favorites. Please let me know what you think of the story so far, and suggestions would be welcome!**


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